


remember you

by SpicyJam



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Introspection, Light Angst, Lonely Keith (Voltron), M/M, Married Couple, Smut, keith misses his husband, soft, they've been married ten years and keith still loves hunk enough that it hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 19:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16311683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyJam/pseuds/SpicyJam
Summary: His fingers travel along the mussed sheets, feeling where the mattress should be curving with Hunk’s weight, enveloping him in it with its soft padding. The bed feels too big without him, threatening to swallow him whole without Hunk’s arms to keep him steady.Keith is groggy, he knows, sleep dragging his eyelids heavy like cement across brick. They feel gritty like it, too, and he’s dragging his chapped palms across them to clear his vision.It’s all too rough against his skin, scratchy where it should be smooth and painful where it should be pleasant— not like how Hunk touches him with his soft fingers and warm palms.He rolls out of bed, but he knows he won’t find Hunk inside their home. Not tonight. Not for a few more nights.---Hunk comes home.





	remember you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackberry_peachx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_peachx/gifts).



> wish [@space-peachx](http://space-peachx.tumblr.com/) a happy birthday, you hear???? >:Tc she deserves a million more love than she gets (but also don't spam her ahksdhlajdasl)
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY PEACH!!! i love you

Keith wakes up to an empty bed that’s cold on the left side and it’s a stark contrast to what he  _should_ be feeling: his husband, radiating heat like a furnace and snoring like an old engine. It takes him a moment to realize why— to remember that Hunk was far away at the moment, but that doesn’t help.

His fingers travel along the mussed sheets, feeling where the mattress  _should_ be curving with Hunk’s weight, enveloping him in it with its soft padding. The bed feels too big without him, threatening to swallow him whole without Hunk’s arms to keep him steady.

Keith is groggy, he knows, sleep dragging his eyelids heavy like cement across brick. They feel gritty like it, too, and he’s dragging his chapped palms across them to clear his vision.

It’s all too rough against his skin, scratchy where it should be smooth and painful where it should be pleasant— not like how Hunk touches him with his soft fingers and warm palms.

He rolls out of bed, but he knows he won’t find Hunk inside their home. Not tonight. Not for a few more nights.

Keith stumbles in the dark to the kitchen, stubbing his toes on the couch that he’d moved earlier to clean underneath but had forgotten to move back. It wrenches a yell out of him that Hunk would have snickered at, but now it’s just him and his throbbing foot in the dark of the middle of the night.

With a heavy, tired sigh, he grabs for the cold coffee sitting in the pot from the morning prior.

It was strange to him, to have started to rely so heavily on Hunk in the years that he can barely function without him now. Keith was used to having no one. He was the lone wolf. He didn’t care.

His heart ached thinking of his husband, off promoting his cookbook around the world. It featured all traditional dishes from his cultures— Samoan in one half, traditionally Black dishes in another, and then a mix somewhere in between. Hunk was  _so_ proud of his work. It’d taken him years to get it just right.

And Keith was proud of him! He’d rather die than have Hunk not have achieved his dream like he did.

But another, smaller, stubborn part of him wanted to pluck Hunk from the cushy hotel room he was sleeping at tonight and cling to him for the rest of their days.

Keith fiddles with the wedding ring squeezing his finger and sighs again, shooing that pesky thought away like a dust bunny that’d gone sentient.

He sips on his cold coffee and instead travels through their house.

It’s a tiny thing— basically just a bedroom and a kitchen. Most of the lot space went towards their garden and their garage, but they were planning on adding on a guest bedroom someday.

Keith surprises himself by heading towards the vegetables instead of his motorcycle.

It’s still dark outside, what with it being just after two in the morning, but there’s still a fair amount of dew on the leaves of Hunk’s pumpernickels and squashes. Keith brushes the thin sheen away as he passes, just to give his hands something to do. To make himself feel useful.

As he follows the rows down, he’s reminded of when Hunk couldn’t get him to touch the soil with a ten-foot hoe. He’d always been too afraid of accidentally ruining all the hard work, no matter how careful he’d tried to be.

Now, Hunk had to drag him away from the neat bundles of sunflowers that he’d been able to grow. They’re taller than him now, and the perfect height for him to smack into Hunk’s face when he gets too frisky while they’re gardening.

The grin on his face now takes him by surprise too. Even away, Hunk had him smiling like an idiot.

Keith heads inside before he starts kissing pumpkins.

The clock on the wall (of the smiling cat variety, complete with moving eyes and a swishing tail) ticks at him, and he knows he’ll regret letting himself stay up so late in the morning. 

He lets himself take a few more minutes.

He flops onto the couch, holding both his hands high into the air. There’s a faint outline of his gloves firmly imprinted on his palms and their backs, and he’s sure they’ll never go away. He doesn’t really mind it. The ring, though, hasn’t left such a tan-line yet, and Keith frustratedly rubs at his ring finger as if the heat will help it stay.

He isn’t sure why it means so much to him, and he doesn’t care to find out. That emotional baggage can stay in the corner where it belongs.

Keith slaps his hands down onto his cheeks to ground himself, and rolls over to pass out on the embroidered cushions gifted to them by Hunk’s auntie.

\---

“Keith?”

The murmur washes over him, bathing him in the warm and fuzzies. It’s like a soft sunrise lit in his heart and took up all the space in his marrow, until he was nothing but happy.

He vocalizes as much with a quiet grunt and by flopping further into his pillow.

A hand presses against his shoulder, giving first a firm shake, then a gentler pat across his collar. A shiver rolls through him, as if the sunbeams were trying to escape out of his follicles and go back to where they belong.

When he blinks his eyes open, it’s to a fond gaze glancing him over. Warm,  _beautiful_ brown eyes squint at him in the dark, and Keith’s brain immediately calls itself to attention.

“Hunk?”

He whispers it so cautiously, and it sounds so far away from him that he’s sure he’s dreaming. 

But it is Hunk, in his ‘traveling jacket’ (that is, a replica of Keith’s old jacket that Pidge had tossed at them years ago. Apparently their clothes had been a hit in the space-cosplay department), and his worn sunhat that he  _insisted_ on taking with him, because “the sun is bright everywhere, Keith”, and that suede backpack that Keith had given to him because Hunk had loved the way it felt on his skin, even though it was hardly as practical as plain leather.

Hunk’s palm cups around his cheek, tilting his head up so that a kiss can be smothered against his skin. “Mornin’, cherry pie. Let’s take you to the bedroom.”

He’s ushered forward, but he’s so flabbergasted by Hunk’s sudden appearance that his legs don’t work on the first few tries. Instead, he’s caught up in the way that Hunk looks so  _different_ , being gone about a month by now. He’s gotten darker around the edges— tanned. The sunhat must not have done that good a job.

He looks tired, too. But that may have something more to do with the fact that it’s six in the morning, and Keith was being difficult on the couch instead of snuggled up in bed like a sensible person.

Keith shoves his bangs back from his face and tries to blink his eyes clear of the remaining wisps of sleep that cling to his eyelashes. “Hunk??”

“That’s me, starlight.” Hunk gives him a fingergun— complete with the sound of him mimicking the sound of it cocking— and smiles as if he weren’t a sudden apparition wreaking havoc on Keith’s soul. “C’mon.”

Hunk leads him to the bedroom, much like a siren would lead a sailor to his death— and Keith really hopes that this isn’t him being tortured by an enemy to reveal Voltron’s secrets. 

Completely glossing over the fact that Voltron hasn’t been needed for a decade now,  _and_ he was no longer a paladin. Forgetting the fact that Hunk was completely gentle with him as he lifted him onto the bed and helped him peel away his socks and t-shirt.

Hunk sheds his outerwear, shoulders stiff. The backpack looks heavy where he tosses it in the corner. Keith wants to kiss them better, but his mouth isn’t working right at the moment. Everything feels dipped in water— but water that’s thick with something like pollen and stardust and dreams. 

Makes it a little hard to think.

Hunk notices him staring, and his tired smile is what makes Keith obediently lay down in bed and wait for him to be joined.

When Hunk climbs in, the bed dips in the familiar way it has for years, and all feels right in the universe once again.

Keith feels along Hunk’s skin and he’s as tangible as he is in his dreams. Which— doesn’t help make this real.

He murmurs something low under his breath that even  _he_ doesn’t hear, but Hunk seems to understand anyway. To understand the desperate question that’s burning itself in Keith’s throat and closing up.

Hunk gathers him close and kisses it all away, enveloping him in that radiating heat, as if he never left.

Keith’s eyes hurt when he squeezes them shut— but he’s  _not_ crying. Crying doesn’t make him feel so happy.

When Hunk pulls him back to let him breathe, Keith presses forward again and knocks their heads together, hard enough to make his teeth clack. “Is this real?”

“Of course it is.” Hunk says, though there’s a faint amount of amused surprise seeping into the words. “I’m right here, buttercup.”

The nicknames should be proof enough, really.

Keith kisses him again, hugging Hunk close. Squeezes him, it feels— just like how his heart is squeezing in on itself until it threatens to burst and bloom like the sunflowers out back, desperate for Hunk’s light.

He searches for words to say— how much he missed Hunk, how surprised he is that he’s home early— but it all gets drowned away by the sudden onslaught of the yearning,  _burning_ need that overcomes him.

Keith reaches between them and palms against Hunk’s legs. A startled grunt sounds from his husband, but Keith won’t stop until Hunk tells him to stop.

He strokes against the length of him, from behind the thin barrier of his underwear. Keith wonders what pattern they have on them.

Something about him being ‘frisky’ is whispered in his ear, but he focuses more on the heat that fans across his skin from Hunk’s breath rather than its meaning. 

Keith nips at the exposed skin of Hunk’s chest. Everywhere. He bites and suckles and kneads everything he can reach, and Hunk lets him. He keeps Keith steady with a palm against his back, but he doesn’t do much in the ways of asking him to stop.

The length between his legs seems to like it, anyway. Keith gives it attention in the form of his palm, circling the length to urge it to its full potential.

Hunk rolls them over, slow enough that Keith can roll him back if he wants, but Keith gladly gives everything and anything that Hunk wants from him in the moment. A warm smooch is imprinted on his neck, following the curve of his collar until Hunk returns one or two of the hickeys against his shoulder.

Keith isn’t prepped in the slightest, he realizes, as Hunk reaches behind to palm one of his cheeks. 

He buries the blush that rises— it never dissipates even after  _ten years_ — against Hunk’s skin, and tries to convey as much through actions rather than words.

Hunk bypasses straight by his hole, though, and palms him between the legs.

Keith jolts, not expecting the sudden warmth against his perineum. The fingers inch higher, until they have to shift so Hunk can reach at him from the front instead— and soon Keith’s actions are being mimicked back upon him. Every time he strokes up Hunk’s length, Hunk does the same to his own.

They’re face to face from the way Hunk has rolled them, and Keith is able to see every expression that rolls across Hunk’s face like this. He’s still tired around the fringes, eyes half-lidded as he threatens to keel over despite the needy moans that slip past his teeth. Keith kisses him again.

They stroke each other to completion. Keith’s pace is desperate, both in the way he squeezes his fingers against Hunk’s sensitive skin and the way he jerks into Hunk’s closed fist, while Hunk’s feels much more subdued, small, but it’s  _perfect_.

Keith muffles his arching cry when he his orgasm hits, and Hunk goes quiet when his reaches. It’s almost simultaneous, but Keith is grateful for the close proximity so he can see the way Hunk twists around himself as the pleasure overtakes him.

They lay panting in their mess, in the aftermath. Hunk isn’t mad at the sudden touchiness— seemed to have expected it, somehow. Maybe not to the furious extent Keith had taken it, but that was Keith. Always doing the extreme.

Hunk loved him for it.

When the fire has cooled in Keith’s belly to something more manageable— a light simmer rather than a scorch through his dermis— he scooches back to give Hunk distance.

“I missed you.” He says, quiet.

Hunk pulls him forward again. Their clammy skin feels gross as the A/C cools them off, but Hunk holds him tight and gives him a squeeze to boot.

“Missed you, Keith.”

Their wedding rings knock together as their hands meet somewhere under the covers, and Keith feels complete again.

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to check out peachie pie's [BEAUTIFUL art](http://space-peachx.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art)


End file.
